


Show must go on

by anxietycheesecake



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Porn, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), But not from the characters we support, But of course he won't do that, Camboy Crowley, Camgirl Aziraphale, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Dubious Consent, Evil pornographer tries to make Crowley abuse Aziraphale, Fat Shaming, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, I'll put a warning in it so you can skip it if that triggers you, Multi, Past Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Slut Shaming, They love each other, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Transphobia, Vaginal Fingering, fatphobia, just referenced and in a very specific chapter, not in a sexual context, past aziraphale/gabriel, they make porn together alright?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:35:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23590177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anxietycheesecake/pseuds/anxietycheesecake
Summary: After breaking up with her boyfriend and only financial support, Azira Fell (female!Aziraphale) finds herself forced to take part in a porn scene, with famous pornstar A. J. Crowley.They get along well, but when the producer expects Crowley to break all of her boundaries and he refuses to do so, they both end up just like she began: completely unemployed.Luckily, Crowley has an idea for them to still work together and make a lot of money. As long as Azira accepts.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 224





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little something I've been working on since forever. I should warn you right now: it features lots of sex and lots of angst. Expect dirty talk and praise kink and exhibitionism and all the other things that I love reading in fanfics. Expect trauma and hurt/comfort and all the other things I love reading in fanfics. Also expect several grammar mistakes, since English is my second language and I've never been too good at it.
> 
> This first chapter contains a bit of fatphobia and a small reference to religion-based child abuse (nothing too harsh, just a bit of slut-shaming but not in the fun way). If this doesn't upset you, please enjoy, and let me know if you need anything else tagged.

The changing room is not that sordid. Not as sordid as she pictured it, at least. It looks almost normal, with the mirror and the lights and the red velvet couch. There are several things with feathers hanging from the clothes rack, which make her partially confused —because she isn’t sure what most of them are or how is one supposed to wear them— and partially self-conscious —because her own clothes seem rather plain in comparison—.

This is one of the occasions when she wishes she had taken at least one of Gabriel’s “suggestions.” He always called her out on the way she dressed —“as if she lived in the forties and fifties but without the good taste,” he said—. He enjoyed pointing out how her clothes didn’t properly hug her body, but he was also upset when she tried to wear something close-fitting. She still has nightmares about that time they went to the beach and she had finally found the confidence to wear a two-piece swimsuit, just to get a disgusted “that’s not for your body-type at all” in return.

With a history like that, one could say it doesn’t make sense for her to be here, in the changing room of a production company specialized in erotic material. Damn, she could even say so herself. But sometimes life puts you in a place you don’t want to be in without any real option and this was hers.

If her mother knew… She never intended her to go to college, either. If the man she fell in love with would have been any other but Gabriel, she’d be at home now, cleaning and cooking and taking care of her children. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been such a bad life, now that she thinks about it. But the sole thought sends shivers down her spine.

No way. That’s not who she is. Just considering the possibility of her education ending in high school threatens to bring her to tears. And all through the last three years, she has laughed at it. She could even joke about this, because it sounded like such a wild concept, so far removed from her reality.

At this moment, she can only laugh at how she came to think Gabriel was some sort of saviour. That’s how he came into her life, with all his money and influence and promises of future. “It’s fine, darling, I’ll pay for your degree and you can repay me by working here.” Seemed so simple. He loved her and he would do anything to make her dreams come true.

That was until almost a month ago, when everything turned around and suddenly she was on her own; no boyfriend, no job and no money. To this day she doesn’t fully understand what she did wrong. Hell, she did everything he wanted. She cooked and cleaned and was never in a bad mood. In some ways, it looked exactly like the life that was programed for her. And she still managed to not being enough.

It was the sex, no doubt. That still sounds absurd, because Gabriel was the one who said “a lady in the streets and a whore in the sheets? A lady everywhere, thank you very much” at any given chance. How could she have gotten to the conclusion that he actually wanted a whore in the sheets? They didn’t even take their socks off!

The truth is Azira isn’t sure Gabriel was the only one to blame for her low performance yet. She’ll figure it out now, she supposes, in the worst way possible.

Well, she did make sure that her potential bosses knew everything she isn’t willing to do. And she doesn’t expect to come back. It’s just something to make the ends meet this month, as her entire world seems to fall apart. She’s sure she’ll find a real job after this. This is simply an immediate solution. But she still sent them an exhaustive list of her big ‘no’s, which they must have received two days ago.

It’s all in God’s hands now. Oh, even that expression comes out as in poor taste given the circumstances she’s living. She can only hope they pair her with a good man —as good as he can be if this is his work area— and not to disappoint them too bad.

She’s staring into her own eyes in the mirror, absorbed by all the small flaws she’s discovering all over her face, when someone knocks on the door and makes her jump.

“Are you decent?” a voice asks from the hallway.

“Me?” she whispers cynically, remembering that old movie Gabriel and her watched before he decided to kick her out of his life.

Another knock.

“Come in!” she says out loud, realizing she didn’t reply.

The door opens and she can’t even look at the man who walks in. She literally can’t, since he’s so tall his head gets cut from the mirror’s frame. And she’s too nervous to turn around, anyway.

“So… Angela Fallen, is it?”

Azira cringes at the sound of the name. It’s not her fault that she had to choose a pornstar pseudonym and she didn’t have time to think of anything better.

“Yes…”

She hears him walking behind her and big hands land on her shoulders seconds later. _Alright_ , she thinks. _Don’t fret, he’s just a make-up artist or something of the like. He’ll probably style your hair and leave you alone._

But the response he gets from her whole body is not the kind of response a stylist would get. By the time his index finger flies under her chin and gently lifts her face up, by the time they make eye-contact and she gets a good look at how handsome he truly is, it’s clear that she doesn’t want him to be a stylist at all.

“There we go,” he mutters. “That’s a lovely face.”

Azira can’t fight the urge to avoid his gaze. Instead of forcing her to stare at the mirror again, he chuckles, clearly amused.

“Your first time on camera?”

“Yes,” she admits, looking down. “Do I… Do I look awful?”

The stranger takes a few steps back and examines her.

“Definitely not terrible. Maybe a bit too… solemn, if you ask me.”

Mortified, she covers her face.

“Oh, I knew I—”

“No, no, angel, listen to me. You look great, but too much of a good, intellectual girl for what we’re trying to do here. Clients do like good and intellectual, at some extent, but we’re still playing with a fantasy, y’know? Calm down, we’ll fix it in like… thirty seconds.”

Azira looks down at herself.

“How?”

“Well, first of all, your skirt.”

“What about my skirt?”

“It’s too long. Like, really too long. You want it shorter. Stand up.”

“But I don’t want it shorter…” she protests, doing as she’s told. “This is one of my favourite skirts and—“

“No need to cut it, angel. Wanna see a magic trick?”

She nods out of pure confusion and prepares for having her skirt brutally pulled up or something —anything from these people—. To her surprise, he doesn’t do that. Instead, he hooks his fingers under the waistband and starts twisting it over itself in the most careful way possible. In a matter of seconds, the skirt that previously hung under her knees, reaches her mid-thigh. She stares at it in amazement.

“Oh my God…”

“Just Crowley, please,” he smirks. “Sit back down, we have some more work to do.”

She obeys, sitting down and having her chair turned at the mirror again. Crowley lowers himself at her side, still inspecting. He nods as he puts a white-blond curl behind her ear.

“Is this your real colour?”

“Yes, it is,” she confirms. “Is… is that yours?”

“Uh… technically. Not this red by nature, but pretty close.” He sighs. “How strong are your feelings about this proper-lady bun you have?”

“Well, I… I don’t have strong feelings about anything.”

“Alright, let’s see if we can change that.”

He starts working on her hair and, for an instant, she’s scared he’ll be indelicate and hurt her —she has met hairdressers like that—. Nothing farther from the truth. Crowley is a complete expert, loosening the correct knots with skill and gentleness, even fluffing it the right way when it all comes down over her shoulders.

“Hair rollers, huh?” he smiles, running his fingers through the waves. “You just don’t get this texture from modern methods.”

Azira stares at her own feet.

“I know it’s not very sexy…”

“Angel, trust me, you’re the sexiest person I’ve seen in a long time.”

She closes her eyes, trying not let the comment get to her head.

_He’s just being polite. He probably doesn’t even like women…_

“You know what I’m missing here?”

“What?”

“Some lipstick.”

_He definitely doesn’t like women. There’s no way this man is heterosexual._

Crowley proceeds to find the loudest shade of red she has ever seen and put it on her lips. In order to do so, he needs to get closer than ever, nose almost touching hers and eyes never leaving her mouth.

“Blow me a kiss,” he asks.

“Sorry, what did you say, dear?”

“Blow me a kiss so I can make sure we’re done with it.”

“Oh, alright.”

She obeys once more and he lets go of her face, putting the lipstick where it was before.

“Good girl.” He turns her to the mirror one last time. “I still don’t see it, but I can’t figure out why…”

Azira’s eyes start burning. Obviously. Even with her hair loose and her skirt shorter, she doesn’t have what it takes. She was already aware of this before, but now she can truly admit it. After all, Gabriel was right. She isn’t…

“Ugh, of course!” Crowley exclaims, slapping his hand across his face in frustration at the evident. Azira freezes when his fingers travel to the first button of her shirt. “May I?”

“May you what?”

Crowley makes a gesture at her chest.

“Oh…”

“Just two or three, if you don’t mind.”

Azira takes a deep breath. Then she nods. She can feel the warmth of his fingertips as he unfastens one button. And another. And one more. Her breasts seem to delight in all the new space, in their new freedom. Crowley hums.

“That’s better. The poor ladies wanted some air.” He opens the shirt a bit further. “Angel, these are great. Why would you want to keep them from the world?”

“I can’t walk down the street with my breasts out, dear,” she jokes, resisting the impulse to hide her face.

“Sounds unfair to me.”

Azira blushes.

“I’ve never liked them,” she confesses, voice barely a whisper.

Crowley shakes his head in amazement.

“You what?”

“I’ve never liked them,” she repeats. “I… Ever since they started growing, people would treat me different. My mother said… Well, she said they were some type of curse. A tool for the Devil to tempt people through me. She… she was afraid Satan might have sent me.”

“Angel…”

“Besides…” Her tears are quite noticeable at this point. “They’re not the kind of breasts men enjoy. They’re not… If I just lost weight…”

“They’d still be amazing, but that’s not the point,” Crowley interrupts, and returns to his spot behind her, looking at her through the mirror. “Angel, I’m serious. Ever since I got here, you haven’t said one nice thing about yourself. And you totally could! I mean, you’re pretty, you’re clever, you’re… so fucking sexy! Look at these.” He gently traps the upper side of her bra’s cups, moving it up and down, making their bounce a bit. “And this has to be the cutest bra ever created.”

“It’s the nicest I own. I… I don’t own a lot of underwear I’m proud of, but…”

“This one is lovely, alright? And you are lovely and I can’t wait to work with you.”

Azira gives a little giggle. And the next second, it lands.

“What do you mean you can’t wait?” she questions, turning her head to him. “You just finished. At least you said you…”

Crowley stands up and blinks.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, angel, let me see if I’m getting this right,” he says, shaking his hands. “You thought I was your image consultant or something?”

Azira opens her mouth and closes it.

“Um… aren’t you?”

This time he can’t hold back his laughter. It’s hysterical and contagious, but she doesn’t feel like joining in. She leaves her seat, standing straight, hands on hips, waiting for an explanation.

“No, no, angel, you don’t get it,” he manages to stop laughing, his voice still terribly amused by a joke she doesn’t understand. “I am not a stylist. I came in to check on you and noticed you needed help, but that’s not the job I usually do here.”

Azira’s heart skips a bit.

“Then what do you do?”

Crowley’s eyes suddenly acquire a quality that wasn’t there minutes ago. They turn darker, deeper, hungrier. They fill with unmistakeable lust.

He takes one step closer.

“Let’s just say I’ll be your… partner in crime this evening.”

_He definitely likes women._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley helps Azira get ready for the show.
> 
> THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES SMUT. Beware of some mentions of a past abusive relationship, including fat and slut shaming. Also, there are references to anorgasmy, though it's clearly not what's happening. Religious fear also makes an appear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some porn for all your smutty ineffable spouses needs. This chapter was hard to write. I'm not good with English and I barely understand the connotation of most words, so please let me know if something doesn't mean what I think it means. Also, now I have a tumblr (http://anxietycheesecake.tumblr.com), so feel free to talk to me over there. Thank you for the support :)

“You look surprised,” Crowley grins.

Azira’s mouth has been trying to formulate a sentence for almost a minute. This… is the guy. This guy is the guy. The guy is this guy. This…

“I-I am!” she finally exclaims, no longer disguising her shock. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize. I thought…”

“Damn, what did you expect?” he chuckles. “Some beefy stud who was into Roman showers or around the world?”

Her polite little smile vanishes slowly, index finger hanging in the air.

“I apologize, my dear, but I understood virtually nothing of what you just said.”

Crowley laughs like he can’t believe it.

“Have you ever watched porn at all?”

Azira lowers her gaze, embarrassed.

“You’ve never watched porn, right?”

And shakes her head. Crowley sighs, apparently hesitating between stepping back and holding her.

“So… you’ve never been on camera, you’ve never watched porn and I suspect you don’t think you’d enjoy it…”

“That’s a rather accurate summary of the situation.”

“But…” He calculates his next words carefully. “You somehow decided you want to do porn…?”

“It’s not my choice!” she explodes.

It’s not an explosion, per se. Just a small bite back. Enough to make her eyes water and her voice crack, but not quite so angry that she might storm out the door.

Crowley stares in stunned silence for a moment. This seems to be the push he needed to make a move and rest a hand on her shoulder. Not a great move, but still comforting.

“Angel… is someone forcing you to do this?”

“Life is forcing me to do this,” she sobs, wiping some tears away with the sleeve of her shirt. “I… I really need the money.”

“Oh.”

“Look, Crowley, I appreciate your concern. I honestly do. But I have no choice over this and I’d rather get this over with and move on. I have to pay my bills, I have to pay for my college and… And this doesn’t have to be enjoyable at all. I didn’t come here expecting to have a great time, I won’t be disappointed, I—“

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop you right there,” he cuts her off in the kindest of ways. “I see your point. I won’t lie and say I’ve never felt like that before ’cause that’d just be insulting you. But, look, here’s the thing: I’ve been on this for years. I’m talking decades. And you wouldn’t know because this world is so new to you, but I’m kind of a big name, right? Seriously, A. J. Crowley, look that up…” He gives it a second thought. “Wait, wait, no, don’t look that up.

”The only thing you need to know is that I’m a professional. I’ve fucked everything and in every way that is legal under the sun. But I’m retired of all that stuff. I gave it up for doing this: working with amateurs. And from time to time one tells me exactly what you just said: ‘look, I need the job, I’m not planning to get anything but money from this, alright?’ You know what I tell them, angel?”

She barely conjures the confidence to mouth a ‘no’, absorbed as she is by the speech, especially by the “fucked everything and in every way that is legal under the sun.”

_That must be what ‘Around the world’ means…_

“Hey, if there’s no other way, who says we’re not allowed to have fun doing it?”

Azira isn’t sure how to reply to that.

“I’ve got an idea,” Crowley says. “You’re clearly scared, so, why don’t you tell me about the stuff you’re not willing to do? Letting the obvious out, because we’re not doing anything too crazy or gross.”

So they didn’t receive her list…

“Um, alright,” she agrees, standing there as Crowley sits down on the loveseat. “Well, first of all… I don’t… My backside is… definitely off-limits. For penetrative purposes.”

“No anal, noted.”

“And… I’d rather not perform any kind of fellatio.”

“No blowjobs.”

“And I wouldn’t like having my hair pulled or my bottom smacked.”

“No hair-pulling, no spanking.”

“Please don’t make comments about my weight.”

“No fat-shaming,” he translates, his expression showing a subtle hurt, probably from imagining what made her so insecure about that subject.

Azira is getting consistently more assertive. She keeps listing no’s, walking around the room while trying not to forget about the smallest detail.

“No cunnilingus, no analingus, no discussing biblical subjects, no taking the name of God in vain, no showing my face, no spitting on my face, no spitting anywhere near me, no making me spit on you, no making me spit on anything, no—”

“Can I say something?” Crowley asks, calmly raising his hand like he’s back in school.

“What?!” Azira snaps, overcame by her own anxiety. “Oh, I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to be rude. What did you want to say?”

“Uh, nothing, just remind you that we’re going live in a few minutes and you should be prepping yourself by now.”

“P-prepping?”

“Yeah, I mean…” He makes a hook with his index and middle finger and moves them like he’s tickling someone. “Get the girl ready for the main event?”

“Oh, you mean my…” She doubts a bit before adding in a whisper: “vagina.”

“Yes, your… _vagina_ ,” he mocks, though it doesn’t come off as mean-spirited.

“Is it absolutely necessary, dear?”

“If you want to have a good time, yeah. It’s really simple, angel: porn isn’t about foreplay. At least the kind of porn we do. So you’ll want to be excited in advance so it won’t hurt.”

“Will it hurt?” she questions, devastated.

“No if we do it right. And we’re gonna do it right, because you’re gonna prep yourself.” He starts saying something more, but stops when he notices her horrified expression. “Angel, you do masturbate, don’t you?”

She avoids his gaze again.

“Never?”

“No…”

“Come here.”

Azira sees him patting the spot on the couch beside him, but she doesn’t move till he insists.

“What are you going to do?” she nervously inquires, accommodating herself on the free space.

“Well, angel, this is kind of awkward because… it really depends on the context.”

“Uh?”

“See, if we met anywhere else, if I wasn’t supposed to be fucking you in ten minutes, maybe fifteen, I’d take one of these beautiful hands of yours…” And he does exactly that, tracing soothing patterns over its back with his thumb. “Guide it between your legs and make you your own teacher, as it is intended to be by nature.”

Azira bites her lower lip, eyes fixed on the hand that contains her own, waiting for it to start travelling south just like implied.

“But?”

He lets go of it, resting his left arm on the back of the couch instead.

“But we don’t have enough time and I really want you to enjoy yourself, so we’ll have to make it way quicker than that. But know that I expect you to give it a try when you’re home.”

She nods like she can’t refuse. He could ask for anything right now and she wouldn’t say no. Well… with certain limitations.

“Fuck, you’re tense,” Crowley comments. “Let’s just talk for now, huh? What do you think?”

“A-al… okay. Yes. Okay.”

“You mentioned you’re in college, did I get that one right?”

“I am,” she clarifies, disappointed on herself. “I know what you’re thinking. I’m definitely too old for college.”

“No, I wasn’t thinking that,” he denies, serious as a heart attack, arm creeping around her body, hand resting on her hip and making her jump. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Great, so… As I was saying, I don’t think you’re too old for college. I don’t think there’s such a thing as being too old for college. It’s amazing you can finish this kind of stuff. Some of us don’t ever get the chance.”

“You still…” That damn thumb starts to rub circles on her hipbone now. She takes a deep breath and continues: “Y-you still can.”

“Nah, a bit too late for me. But tell me, what are you majoring in?”

“Religious…” And it slides downwards, where her leg begins. “Religious _studies_ …” The ‘studies’ is a fucking moan and she wants the Earth to swallow her as soon as possible.

“Should have guessed,” Crowley smirks.

“I must seem terribly prudish to you,” Azira replies, opening one eye to look at him.

“I said it because of the whole ‘no taking the name of God in vain’ business, but, hey… I like prudish.”

His free hand lands on her knee, the fabric of her skirt no longer there to protect her from the warmth of his palm, and she almost jumps out of her seat.

“Shhh, relax, you’re okay,” Crowley whispers, close to her ear. “Keep telling me about your degree, angel. What do you like the most about it?”

“L-literature, I think…”

“Yeah? You like books?”

“I-I love books… I…” His left hands slowly ascends to one of her breasts, cupping it through the clothes. “OH I LOVE BOOKS SO MUCH WHAT ARE YOU DOING”

“I’m just giving my friends here some deserved attention. What, too much?”

He tries to put his hand away but she shakes her head like the thought of him doing that is more frightening than the contact itself.

“No! It’s perfect, it’s perfect, just…”

“Wasn’t expecting it, alright. Feels good?”

“Feels…” His hand is now massaging and it threatens to make her melt. “ _good_. Feels good. It’s… very, very good.”

“Great, what were you telling me about books?”

“I… I just adore books. My dream is to open my own bookshop someday, actually.”

“I bet it’d be amazing. What’s your favourite author?”

“I’d have to say Oscar Wilde.”

“Oscar Wilde,” he repeats. “Certainly not something a prude would enjoy, if you ask me.”

“Maybe I’m… not a prude…”

“Not anymore, at least.” His right hand caresses her thigh in almost imperceptible moves. “I’d like to feel you through your knickers now, okay? You are wearing knickers, right?”

“O-of course I am!” she exclaims, as shocked as a rich opera enthusiast would be.

“You’d be surprised if I told you how many people don’t,” he jokes —or does not joke—. “So, can I?”

She thinks it over. This is, without a shadow of a doubt, the first time someone asks her this question. If they’re allowed to touch her, of course. And it’s not even that Gabriel didn’t respect her consent. He absolutely did!

It’s just that sex with him was always so premeditated, that there was never room for uncertainty. If they started it, it was because they both wanted it. Gabriel kissed her and turned the lights off and undressed her and got inside her and that was it. She couldn’t even tell that he had ever _felt_ her with his fingers.

Her head nods before her mind does.

“I need you to say it, angel.”

Her eyes search Crowley’s instinctively. His face is impossibly close to hers and he’s still massaging her left breast with carefulness and determination. The hand on her thigh hasn’t stopped moving, it just paused right before reaching the limit of her knickers, caressing the place where the leg and the groin connect.

She shudders.

“You… you’ve got my blessing.”

Azira is no longer aware of where his hand is now. She knows it’s not where it was seconds ago, but every touch is so overwhelming she can’t locate them. She feels everything and nothing at the same time, and it could only be compared to the first time Gabriel penetrated her and she wasn’t sure if he was inside or not.

But that isn’t a fair comparison, because even though it’s technically a very similar physical response, with Gabriel it felt awkward and invasive and almost too weird to stand it.

With Crowley, it feels…

“Mm, already so wet,” Crowley smiles, drawing the already familiar circles over her underwear. “Is that all for me?”

Azira’s eyes shot open. She’s about to question if it’s really that bad, when he raises his fingers and press them against her lips. He doesn’t ask her to lick them or suck on them or anything like that —he must know she wouldn’t be comfortable with it—; he only makes her feel it for herself so she sees he’s not a liar and then goes back to what he was doing.

And now she is unequivocally aware of what he’s doing.

It’s both calming and thrilling. She doesn’t shave —it never settled as a habit. Gabriel wouldn’t have it because ‘God wanted women to be natural’ (but only down there; once she forgot to get rid of a single curl on her armpit and he almost made her go back home to fix it)—, so the hair absorbs most of the impact, turning it into a far more enjoyable and relaxing experience. However, her nerves are still on fire and pants start emerging from her restless mouth.

“Sorry,” she apologizes after a slight moan finds its way out of her throat.

Crowley chuckles and gives her a peck on the cheek.

“Don’t hold back, angel. No one’s going to tell you to keep your voice down here.”

That one hits close home.

Gabriel didn’t like it when she was verbal. In fact, it was one of the complaints he expressed during their break-up conversation —more like a “get out of my house” monologue, if you ask her—. He didn’t want the neighbours to hear, it was in poor taste, everybody would think he was with a prostitute. She made him feel ashamed of wanting her —textual quote—.

It’s hard to throw all this out the window now that Crowley tells her she can be as loud as she wants. She never really wanted to be loud and she was sure it was the right choice. Still, she understands that the work she’s expected to do requires a more vocal performance, and she’s willing to give it if that means a better payment.

Maybe Gabriel was right about her being a prostitute. Isn’t a prostitute someone who exchanges sex for money? Isn’t…

“Ah, here it is,” Crowley celebrates, taking her out of her thoughts.

Azira gasps. She just realized… He’s touching her there, right where her entrance is, even applying a bit of pressure that makes the fabric sink a little into her. Even though she already knows what’s happening, she can’t help but breathlessly ask.

“ _What?_ ”

Crowley exhales a low laugh against her ear, going back to tracing circles and pushing from time to time. When he talks again, it’s half a whisper and half a growl.

“ _The hole I’m fucking today._ ”

Azira’s stomach does a funny thing. Though it isn’t funny at all. For an instant, she thinks she’s going to pass out.

“You liked that,” Crowley mutters. “You got wetter.”

“Sorry!” she says without thinking.

“No, no, no, it’s a good thing, angel. Now tell me… dirty talk is off-limits, too?”

She licks her lips.

“I… I believe it isn’t.”

“Good. Very good.” He kisses her temple. “You know how they told me to fuck you?”

Azira gulps and shakes her head.

“All fours. Have you ever been fucked on all fours, angel?”

“No…”

“Oh, it’ll be great, trust me. Makes you feel it deeper than ever before.”

And there is the fear. The old, terrible fear. It’s not only that being on a new position after years of missionary practically turns her into a virgin again. It’s that Gabriel has been the only man in her life for so long. It hurt horribly the first times, but she got used to it. Having to get used to someone else —a pornstar, nothing less— in a position she’s never tried and that promises to be more intense than anything she has ever done, is… not something she can be optimistic about.

“Can I see it?”

Crowley stops, taken aback.

“What?”

“Can I see your penis? So I prepare myself to…”

“Ngk, of course, of course. Hold on.”

She can’t resist the urge to look away. She hears the zipper going down and her whole body freezes.

“Here.”

She doesn’t look as soon as he announces it’s out. Actually, it takes her several seconds to bring herself to do it. And when she does, the hugest smile grows in her face.

“Oh, thank God!” she sighs. “It’s not that big.”

“Hey, that hurts my feelings.”

Her face turns red when she notices the implications of the phrasing.

“Oh, sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to… This is not a disappointment. I thought it was going to be gigantic!”

“Well, it’s only half-hard.”

Her smile vanishes.

“But it won’t get much bigger than this!” he reassures her. “It’s pretty average, to be honest. I usually have to compensate with skills.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about what’s average. But I think for what it comes to penises, you have quite the handsome one, dear.”

“Stop it.”

“I mean it! It’s… it’s very visually appealing. I never thought they looked like this…”

Crowley frowns.

“Angel… is this the first cock you’ve ever seen?”

Azira looks down.

“Are you… are you a virgin?”

“My old partner liked to keep the lights off, alright?!” She cries. “We never saw each other naked and he was my first… my first everything.”

“But I’m the first cock you’ve ever seen.”

“Can we please move on? It’s rather—”

“Okay, okay, let’s forget it. The important thing here is: you like it, don’t you?”

“I do,” she confesses.

“Say it?”

She forces herself to look at him and whispers:

“I like your penis, Crowley.”

“ _Penis._ ”

“Oh, shut it!”

He puts his arm around her again.

“Well, angel, let me just say I like your… _vagina_.”

“Vagina is the name of the channel itself, not the outside.”

“Then let’s see if I like it, too, huh? What do you say?”

He’s already playing with the elastic of her knickers’ right hole, debating between keeping it there and putting it aside. Or waiting for her approbation.

“Go ahead,” she murmurs, defeated.

Now he doesn’t hesitate, pushing the piece of fabric out of the way, fingers creeping under. She swallows a moan.

“Natural? I like it.”

“I’m sure you do…” She rolls her eyes.

“Wait, what is this?” Crowley suddenly stops.

Panic takes over her.

“W-what? What are you talking about? Am I… Is there something wrong? Did I catch a disease? What do you mean by _this_?”

“I mean _this_.”

Oh.

That.

Azira bites her fist and kicks her legs not to cry all the words she has been taught not to say since she was a child. Her eyes roll back into her skull and she can imagine all the birds in London flying away, scared by her scream.

“That’s your clit, right?” Crowley asks in an unexpectedly genuine way.

“I believe so…”

“Ugh, great, I still cringe over that one time I got it wrong. It’s like playing Russian roulette.”

She giggles at the joke, but not for too long. Crowley keeps stimulating that certain spot she was starting to doubt she was born with. He touches it softly but sure of what he’s doing, and moves somewhere else every time she feels it’s becoming too much before she can tell him, as if he could read her mind.

Her body is in such a state she almost doesn’t notice when his finger pushes in. It should at least feel weird, since it’s been a relatively long time. But every movement is so calculated it’s almost undetectable. A porn actor shouldn’t be this good at it. He should be merciless and selfish and harsh. And here he is, playing her like an instrument that he always dreamed he could play, hitting all the right places and giving her everything she never knew she needed.

“I… Oh my God…” She pants after maybe two or three minutes.

“What happened to not taking the name of God in vain?”

“You always have to ruin it by talking, don’t you, dear?”

“You didn’t seem to mind when I was telling you how I’ll fuck you.”

She can’t answer. Not now. Everything burns but not in a bad way. She’s so lightheaded she isn’t sure how she’ll stand up when they come to call them.

“Fuck, angel, you’re sucking me in,” Crowley mutters. “I’ve never feared for my cock’s safety till now.”

Azira wants to reply. She really wants to, but everything that comes out is incoherent moans.

“I… What’s… what’s going on?” She sighs, looking into his eyes for explanations.

“You’re clenching. I think you’re close.”

“Close? Close to what?”

“Coming.”

The word falls over her like a cube of cold water.

“Oh… Oh, dear, I’m sorry to disappoint but… I-I don’t think that’s possible.”

“What?”

“I don’t think I can… _orgasm_. It never happened. It—“

Crowley shakes his head.

“Alright, so… you don’t masturbate, you never saw your ex’s cock, I’m starting to think he never _touched_ you, but you somehow _know_ you’re one of the few women who are truly, physically impeded from having orgasms, all psychological factors aside.”

Azira remains silent.

“Have you even _tried_? I mean, have you ever told that asshole ‘hey, I want an orgasm, where’s my orgasm? Give me my orgasm’?”

Silence.

“I’ll give you your orgasm.”

He keeps going despite her insistence on that not happening. It’s not her saying “no”, but her warning him over and over that she’s going to let him down. Soon, she forgets again about anything but his fingers inside her. His left hand has also sneaked into her bra, trapping her nipple between the index and the thumb, working it with the delicacy he doesn’t longer need for her cunt.

Neither of them can tell when “too much” became “not enough”. The only thing they know is that she’s grabbing his arm now, desperately moving it, chasing the orgasm she has been denying herself for years.

“Oh… Oh, dear, that’s so nice…”

“Don’t call it ‘nice,’” he complains, nose wrinkling.

“I-I… I never thought it… Is it always like this? Always so good?”

“It’ll be better when you do it,” he promises into her ear. “Once you get to know yourself, once you figure everything out yourself, you’ll think this was the most boring thing ever.”

“I could never think that,” she sighs, breathless and sincere. “I… Oh, God, I can feel my uterus! I can feel my uterus, Crowley.”

“Mm, yeah, I love it when you talk dirty. Say fallopian tubes now. In French, _s'il vous plaît_.”

“This is no time for jo-… Oh! What… I think I’m going to… I think I’m going to have an orgasm, dear. I think I’m…”

“You’re gonna cum.”

His hand begins moving faster. She makes sure it does.

“Yes, yes! I’m…”

“Say it or I stop.”

“I’m… I’m…” She forces the words out her soared throat all at once: “I’mgoingtocomedearyou’regoingtomakemecum!”

She’s almost there. So close to Heaven she can almost taste it. And Crowley will allow it. He’s not going to frown in disgust and leave her like that. He won’t turn the lights off. He wants to see her. He wants to make her…

_Knock, knock._

Crowley’s hand freezes. Azira whines in desperation when it appears from under her skirt.

“We need you on set, Angela. You’re next,” says a voice outside.

Crowley stares at her like this hurts him more than it hurts her. Already intuiting what he’s about to do, she grabs his arm when he just started standing up.

“Angel, I’m sorry, you have to…”

“Please,” she begs, on the verge of tears. “Please just finish me. Just finish me and I’ll go. Just make me—”

“Angel…”

“I’ll never forget it. I’ll owe you for life if you do this for me. I’ll be forever grateful that you—”

“Please don’t say that.” He takes her hands in his, lowering himself in front of her. “Angel, don’t ever say that to anyone. I’m not doing you a favour. You don’t have to thank me. I’m not your sexuality; that belongs to you. It’s… it’s like the song: _anything I can do, you can do better_ or something.”

“I-I can’t. I really can’t. I—”

“You’ll learn. You’ll figure it out and—”

“ANGELA, WE NEED YOU ON SET”

Azira looks at the door like it just opened, even when it didn’t. Then she looks back at him.

“Angel, you don’t need me to have orgasms,” Crowley remarks, serious, caressing her cheek with his knuckles. “You should be going now. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

“And we’re going to have sex.”

“Yeah, technically.” He sighs. “Remember, no matter what happens there, I’m the one with you. I’m the one behind you, even if you can’t see me or whatever. And don’t be afraid to ask me to stop or tell me what you need.”

“You know what I need…”

“You need to turn your fingers and the man with the pink hat into best friends, little miss. Now get going.”

Azira abandons her seat and stumbles out the room —luckily not running into anyone—.

When she turns her head in the empty hallway, Crowley isn’t following her. She’s alone now. But he swore he’d be with her. He told her to remember that he was there, no matter what.

Now that she can’t even count on her own God, despite what he said about thanking him, she’s so grateful she can count on A. J. Crowley.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THERE'S SMUT IN THIS CHAPTER
> 
> Since not everyone is comfortable with smut (and though I don't understand why you'd read this fic if that was the case, I respect it), after every chapter that includes it I'll give a short summary of what happened. In chapter two, Azira learned Crowley was actually her acting partner and he helped her get in the zone. He also comforted her and told her her sexuality shouldn't be tied to him making her feel good solely.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: references to hair-pulling, name-calling and anal sex, none of this actually performed. Non-con is encouraged but not performed. We go deeper on Gabriel and the Almighty being mysoginistic pieces of shit, including some details that might make you uncomfortable. There's a mention of BBC, which I understand some people consider fetishizing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I wish my anxiety allowed me to reply to all your lovely comments. Know that I read them all and feel free to contact me on my tumblr if you'd like a true interaction.
> 
> 2) I'm aware of the fact British say "arse" and I choose to ignore it. I hope y'all can do the same.

Finally on set, Azira can’t tell if the director is looking at her like she disgusts him or like he wants to send Crowley home and take his job. Both concepts scare her half to death, and the room being so empty of actual content doesn’t help her get distracted.

It truly lacks of any kind of personality. No curtains in the small window —that faces a back ally—, no pictures on the walls, not even a nice cushion on the bed. Just white and beige everywhere, nothing she can focus on to make the experience more bearable.

Rooms like this make her nervous. They remind her of the home where she grew up. Her mother’s obsession with cleanness and purity and humility. Maybe that’s the reason why her spaces now are always so messy. An orderly mess, though.

“Angela Fallen?” the director —or maybe producer?— greets her.

“Yes,” she nods, instinctively pulling her shirt to its original state to cover her chest.

“Take a sit, please. The camera is rolling.”

There’s no cameraman; just a big camera besides him. There’s no other place to sit but the bed. She obeys, keeping her legs together and making sure her skirt is long enough not to reveal anything.

“You’re the gentleman who I talked to over the phone, right?” It’s her turn to check. “Mister…”

“Sandalphon, yeah. Mind if we start already? We don’t have much time.”

Her smile fades for a second and then returns.

“Oh, alright. As you wish.”

“So…” He taps his cigar over the ashtray at his side. “Angela Fallen…”

“Yes, as I said…”

“We’re making you say it again for the camera.”

“Oh, sorry. Again, please.”

“Angela Fallen…”

“Yes,” she repeats, widening her grin and straightening up, trying to ignore the lens on her. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Are you excited to be here?” His expression doesn’t match the cheerful tone of his voice.

“Very much, yes.” She suddenly remembers something. “Oh, wait, this footage is… just for reference, right? The audience won’t actually see it. Because I wouldn’t want to be recognizable and—”

“It’s for specific clients and they can only watch it once, don’t worry. You’re safe. Can we go on?”

Azira wishes she could ask more questions, but Sandalphon seems so impatient she doesn’t dare to test her luck.

“Of course.”

“Is this your first time on camera, Angela?”

“I’m afraid so. It’s all rather new and—”

“What made you choose to do this?”

“Well, to be quite frank, I need the money, sir.”

“No, no, no, don’t say that,” Sandalphon groans.

“But that’s honestly the reason,” she frowns.

“Lie, then. These men are paying, they want to hear something… sexier.”

“Sexier?”

“Like you’re curious or experimenting. You’ve only been with boring guys, you’re too kinky for them. You like it harder than that. You want to lose your virginity.”

“In that order, sir?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Choose one.”

“Oh, alright. I suppose I’m a… virgin, then. I’m a virgin. I’ve never done this before. I—”

“Are you nervous?” He goes back to the nice, almost paternal voice.

“A bit, to be honest.”

“But you’re also excited?”

“Quite a lot.”

“What kind of stuff are you interested in?”

Azira doubts for a moment.

“I… I guess what everybody likes? Kissing, vaginal penetration, vaginal fingering, orgasms…”

Sandalphon rubs his temples.

“Can’t you just say anal or BBC?”

“I don’t watch a lot of telly. Although I do enjoy some Strictly Come Dancing from time to time. Just the tasteful routines, however.”

“Just say it.”

“But, sir, I truly do not—”

“It’s a part of the performance. We don’t expect you to actually do it. We just want to put that idea in the viewer’s mind.”

She blinks.

“Oh! In that case, I’d say I’m rather interested in anal penetration and… dancing… Spanking and dirty talk and… and Romanian baths all around the world.”

Her arms cross proudly and Sandalphon looks down like he’s saying “okay…”, but he still plays the part.

“That’s very interesting, Angela, but I don’t think we’ll be able to do everything today.”

“Well, I sure hope so,” she replies, hand on chest.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Take your clothes off and get on all fours.”

He’s already searching for a new cigar in his pocket, so he isn’t even looking at her when she stiffens in shock.

“Excuse me?”

“Clothes go; hands and knees. What part don’t you understand?”

“But I thought Crowley would—”

“He’ll come in once you’re ready. I don’t have all day.”

As she gets rid of her clothes and takes her position, she can’t help having a feeling that Crowley won’t join her. That something terrible happened to him. That they forced him to leave her alone. Or even that he wasn’t her acting partner at all, but just a man who sneaked into the building solely to take advantage of her.

The door creaks. She wants to look back, but she’s too much of a coward to do it. The mattress sinks a bit at her feet and soon… Something grabs her hip. A hand. And a warm body presses all the way against her. And another hand gently puts her hair aside from the nape of her neck. And a hot breath reaches her ear.

“Relax, you’re tense. Face the wall at all times or else they’ll see your face. Lots of moaning, don’t hold back. Don’t clench when I’m going in or it’ll hurt. I’m clean and vasectomized, but I won’t cum inside unless you ask me to. I think the lube is warm enough, but let me know if it’s still too cold for you. Ngk, just tell me if something’s wrong, okay?”

That’s it. God can’t be against pornography and allow this to happen. God must watch BBC every weekend and love it.

A gentle pat on her hip wakes her up from her divagations. For a few eternal seconds, she starts to wonder if he’s still there, if he plans to do anything. She secretly hopes he won’t do it. She pictures him breaking down, saying “I can’t” and taking her out that room. Revealing there’s an easier way, a way that doesn’t require them to do this right in front of this horrible man.

The intrusion is so slow she almost doesn’t notice. Images of this not happening wander around her mind for an instant, till she becomes aware of the pressure. There is a pressure, just like the first time. Her body is probably telling her “don’t do this”, God talking through her unaccustomed muscles. That doesn’t make any sense. If that was the case, she should be feeling pain. But she’s not, because he told her to be relaxed and she would rather die than disappoint him.

Her first logical thought as her entrance gets used to the feeling is that he can’t be, under any circumstance, “average.” That thing is longer than a day with no bread. It just keeps going, to the point she’s expecting Sandalphon to jump from his seat and claim everything was a prank for a BBC new show. It’s not a penis, it’s a… broomstick, or something. Oh, that can’t be healthy…

“You like that?”

Azira covers her mouth. She didn’t realize at the moment but, in retrospective, she knows she moaned. And like any moan that comes uninvited, it must have been awful.

The next thing she recognizes is that she’s definitely pressing back, face and chest lowering against the bed. And she’s a little scared by that, too.

Gabriel wouldn’t like it. Since they only ever did missionary, she couldn’t really push back, but her hips certainly did things she didn’t order them to do. When that happened, Gabriel would grab them to immobilise her, resting more weight on her —crushing her a bit— and thrusting harder. It sort of felt like a punishment, and she isn’t sure he didn’t think it like that, too.

Crowley is different —which stopped coming as a novelty like three orgasm warnings ago—. His fingers only dig enough to keep her in place, not to hurt her. Nothing he does seems to be with the intention of hurting her. More like the opposite, as attentive as he’s being. He doesn’t pull out and goes back in like she feared. He stays inside and carefully starts moving, back and front, hitting all the right places.

“Grab her tits,” Sandalphon commands, frightening her.

The instruction doesn’t land straightaway. At least not for her, so focused on the feeling she doesn’t find out about Crowley giving her time to say no before he obeys. It’s just like his rhythm: cautious and full of want. He’s not only being considerate. This isn’t some charity work he’s trying to do.

It’s such a new concept. Having someone who wants to look at her, who enjoys her body and wishes she could enjoy it, too. She erases the thought of this being his job off her mind. Yes, they’re getting paid, but if she genuinely likes it, why wouldn’t him?

The subtle change of angle the act of playing with her breasts demands, makes his cock reach new spots. It is, if not wonderful, a bit overwhelming. Everything is perfectly lubricated, so it doesn’t bring her any unbearable pain. However, an unfortunate shift causes him to slip out suddenly and, when he slides back in, he forgets to go slow. Her gasp says it all, Crowley understand, but Sandalphon doesn’t.

“Do that again.”

A bad feeling roots inside her guts. Crowley doesn’t listen to him till he repeats the order.

“Think you can take it?” he whispers in her ear.

Azira shakes her head, on the verge of tears.

“Then I won’t do it.”

Now she wants to cry. Her eyes burn and Sandalphon insists on the damn thing for what could as well be hours. After a minute or two, she nods.

“You can go faster.”

“Can I?”

“I want you to.”

That’s a command Crowley can obey. He increases the speed and depth of his thrusts just a little, and it’s amazing what a difference something like that can make. She can’t fight her moans anymore. Not that she was doing that before, but traces of Gabriel’s disapproval still remain deep inside her —almost as deep as Crowley—, so it wasn’t that easy.

Everything seems easier now. Moaning, sighing, telling him what she wants. It’s new and exciting and scary as Hell. She loves it.

“That’s good,” Sandalphon can’t spend five minutes without reminding her of his existence. “Be rougher.”

“Rougher?” she questions, as quiet as she can manage.

“Won’t do it,” Crowley reassures him in the same tone.

“Leave marks.”

“No, don’t leave marks…”

“Won’t do it.”

“Call her names.”

“Please nothing related to—”

“Won’t do it.”

It goes on and on. Sandalphon keeps asking him to do things and he keeps refusing just because it makes her uncomfortable. Suggestions get more and more violent with every negation.

“Smack her ass.”

“Um… she isn’t into that…” Crowley explains, still moving. Azira would be having the time of her life if Sandalphon’s insistence wasn’t encouraging her to have a panic attack.

“Just do it.”

“No!” she cries.

“Don’t worry, angel, I—”

“Then pull her hair.”

“No! Crowley, please, no! They’ll see my—”

“I won’t fucking do that.”

“Stick a finger up her—”

“I SAID NO, GODDAMIT.”

He pulls out, leaving her feeling empty and abandoned. The abandonment is just a physical sensation, though. Because Crowley is commanding Sandalphon to turn off the camera and helping her sit up once it’s not recording anymore, resting a protective arm around her shoulders.

“What kind of scumbag you think I am? Did you even listen to anything she said? She—”

“She said she wanted to make money, Crowley. That’s why I’m asking you to—”

“You think I would do her a favour by _raping_ her?”

“Crowley…” she attempts to interfere.

“It’s not rape, Crowley. It’s business. We’re trying to work here and if she’s not willing to do her part, she can go home.”

“Well, if my part is to force her into stuff she doesn’t want to do, I guess I can go home, too.”

“Crowley, no,” Azira sobs. “Please, don’t… This… This is all my fault. I’m being unreasonable. I really need the—”

“See?” Sandalphon says. “She gets it. Why don’t you?”

“You’re manipulating her. You’re taking advantage of—”

Sandalphon ignores him and looks at Azira.

“Angela, this is your last chance. If you think I’m manipulating you or whatever, if you truly believe in his conspiratorial theories… There’s the door. But if you need the money, if you really do—”

She nods, her chest heaving.

“I need the money. I do need the—”

“Then make it on your own, ’cause I won’t be a part of this,” Crowley decides, standing up and putting on his robe. “I’ve never abused anyone in years in this goddamn industry, I won’t start now. Not with you.”

Azira knows she shouldn’t hate him for this. He’s protecting her, he wants to help. But everything she can think about is losing her degree and going back to her mother to live a simple, mid-century life, forever afraid that her intuition can tell her what kind of daughter she has.

Sandalphon sighs like he believed in her and she has disappointed him. Like Gabriel sighed when he told her they were over.

“Then there’s no way I can help you, Angela. I’m sorry.” He shrugs. “You may put your clothes back on and—”

“Angel, I—” Crowley begins.

“Don’t say a word,” she sobs, picking up her clothes. “Don’t you dare to… Please, shut up.”

She dresses up quickly and leaves. As she rushes back to her changing room, she can hear the door opening.

“Crowley, if you follow her, you’re fired,” Sandalphon’s voice warns.

She doesn’t catch Crowley’s answer, but he doesn’t follow her.

Just like she expected.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter, Crowley was told to do some stuff Azira didn't want him to do, but he refused. She got fired for it and lost what seemed to be her last chance to make money. Crowley's got an idea.
> 
> WARNINGS: No smut in this chapter. Discussion of non-consensual sex (which didn't happen and won't happen in this chapter), mentions of misogyny and other shit Gabriel has done. A pretty tame chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your love! Remember you can contact me on Tumblr: http://anxietycheesecake.tumblr.com and I still read all the comments, even if I can't reply. I'm always open to talk on Tumblr, tho. Hope you enjoy this chapter, which (like the last one) was a bit harder to write. My grammar still sucks, sadly. If anyone wants to rewrite this concept with better grammar and prose, feel free to do it and please let me know :)

She doesn’t shut the door like she normally would; she slams it. It’s extremely impolite, something she has never done before, but she’s too broken to care. Fixing her clothes, she catches her own eyes in the mirror, red and shameful, just like her lips.

She can’t believe it. She looks like a prostitute. She tries to wipe it off with her sleeve, but rather than disappearing, it smears all over her face, making the image into something even more decadent.

Her knickers are still wet and she knows the horrible sensation of openness will stick around for days. After her first time with Gabriel, she couldn’t leave bed for what felt like an eternity, and once she finally managed to do so, she had the feeling everyone knew just by looking at her.

Everyone will know now, too. Some of them might even see it. Although she doesn’t expect them to use her material when they basically fired her, she isn’t too hopeful. These people are monsters, all of them, and they’ll do anything in order to make money.

It hurts that the money is what hurts the most. She degraded herself for it, she let them step on her and would have done more if she had Crowley’s cooperation. And she won’t see one euro.

It feels so materialistic, crying over these things after what she’s done. It feels dirty and sinful and…

“Knock, knock,” Crowley peeps into the room, nice and apologetic.

Even though her clothes don’t look revealing anymore, she jumps and tries to cover herself.

“Leave me alone,” she says. It’s supposed to be rude, but it comes off as pleading.

“Angel…” He steps in, shutting the door.

“I said leave me alone, Crowley! Weren’t you so respectful of my wishes minutes ago?”

Crowley seems taken aback for a second. Then he groans.

“Oh, so you’re actually angry at me for not raping you.”

“It wouldn’t have been rape.”

“It would have been doing something you explicitly said you didn’t want to do. How do you call that, angel?”

Azira closes her mouth and gulps. She has stopped attempting to cover, arms crossing in a way that’s more protective than modest.

“You should have done it,” she mutters, and her own statement is what ultimately breaks her. There’s nothing Crowley can say or do to humiliate her more.

“What?”

“You should have done it!” she explodes. “Whatever you want to call it, you should have gone with it.”

“Look, I understand you’re mad and terrified. I-I am, too! But—”

“No, don’t you dare to play that card! Perhaps you’re mad, Crowley, but you don’t have any right to be terrified. This… We’re not in the same situation.”

“You think it wasn’t terrifying for me? I’ve met guys who are forced to force people on camera. I’m talking gun-point stuff here. And even if it wasn’t the case —it clearly wasn’t the case—, how do you think it makes me feel to have a woman under me who’s begging me not to rape her? You think it’s easy? That someone who I just met is praying for me to feel merciful and not rape her? I knew I wouldn’t do it, but you didn’t.”

Azira sighs, letting herself fall on the loveseat despites her tired body’s complaints.

“I’m sorry, dear. I just… I don’t know what I’m going to do now.”

She collapses, face hidden against her hands, violent sobs shaking her. Crowley carefully takes a seat beside her. It’s surreal that not even an hour before they were right here, feeling good.

“You really needed that money,” he exhales. If it was meant to be a question, he forgot the question mark.

“I… You don’t understand how serious it is. When Gabriel broke up with me, he cut everything off. He kicked me out of our flat and I almost couldn’t find a new one. I worked for him, Crowley. He actually contracted me so I wouldn’t feel like I was taking advantage of our relationship. And suddenly… he decided he had enough of me. Years together and…”

“Just like that,” Crowley completes, compassionate.

“Yes! And I wouldn’t care if… I… Of course I care, of course. I’m not a gold digger, I’m not a—”

“Angel, it’s okay if—”

“We’ve been together since high school. He got me out of our town, he took me out of that house. I’m so grateful that he—”

“Angel, you don’t have to prove anything to me. I get it. He did a lot of stuff that seemed good for you. He helped you. But it’s okay to still feel good when a person who treated you badly is out of your life.”

“Gabriel didn’t treat me badly,” she frowns. “Well, at least not at the start. The case is… I valued our relationship. I honestly did. But now he has left me with nothing and I can’t find a job and… I don’t know.”

Crowley nods like he’s thinking it over.

“Guess we can look for one together.”

Azira turns her head to him, shocked.

“What?”

“I don’t have a job anymore, angel. I’m fired.”

Her eyes open impossibly wide as she searches for a proper answer. It can’t be…

“Because of…? Because of what just…? Because of me?”

“Not because of you, exactly. Well, not just because of you. This is… This is not the first time something like this happens.”

“Oh, no…”

“Yeah, refused to do anything a few times before. Just one of them walked out. Another was forgiven because she was convinced to work with someone else. Most of them were just nervous and some prep talk made the trick. But one more and… Here you are, one more.”

Her heart shatters. She doesn’t know what she wants the more: to run away or to tell Sandalphon that it’s fine, that she’ll let them put her on BBC or whatever. All this time, she hated Crowley for not going with it, for ruining her chance to make money, unaware that it was her who took his job away from him. She feels sick.

“Oh my, dear… I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

Crowley forces a dismissive chuckle.

“Oh, it’s fine, angel. Really. I could care less about this shithole, I’m a big name, remember? You should be worried about yourself.”

She turns corpse-like pale automatically.

“I mean, no, you shouldn’t! I’m sure you can find something, you’re a smart girl and…”

“And?”

Crowley sighs like he’s going to regret this.

“Alright, look, I have an idea and you have every right to oppose to it. Just say the word and I’ll never bring it up again, you can walk out that door and—”

“Dear, please, just tell me, you’re making it worse.”

“Ngk, okay, so… The reason I don’t give two shits about this place, is because this is not where most my incomes come from.”

“Oh, it isn’t?”

“No. Actually, this is more like a hobby. What I got most my money from is… my website.”

She blinks.

“Your website?”

“Yes, angel, I’ve got a website. It’s… basically the same thing. It’s an adult website. People subscribe by paying a month fee, they sometimes leave a tip if they really like what they’re watching and… Well, that’s it.”

“Well, dear, you sure sound like a… businessman, but I’m afraid I don’t understand how this could help me.”

Crowley stops for a second, choosing words, building sentences in his mind. She jumps when he pats her thigh, but it doesn’t feel invasive.

“Here’s the thing, angel, sometimes I do live streams. Sexy live streams. And I usually have some guests for those live streams.”

“Oh, you mean… actors.”

“Sometimes. Also normal people, from time to time. People who offer, of course. I was thinking… maybe you’d like to participate?”

“Participate?”

“You know, as a… guest star.”

Azira’s jaw drops.

“You absolutely don’t have to! I’m just putting the idea out there, thinking out loud. All I’m saying is that it pays well and it’s right here. You don’t even have to show your face, I know that worries you. It wouldn’t be like what just happened, trust me on that. We don’t—”

“Crowley,” she interrupts, almost too dry but visibly apprehensive. “This is not a trial, you don’t have to… What I mean is…” A sigh. “Oh, dear, I just don’t know…”

“Listen, if what scares you is this… this shady thing that was going on back there, I can truly promise you it won’t have anything to do with that. That’s not how I work and it’d be just you and me this time.”

“Only us?”

“Yes, yes, just… I work at my flat, yeah? That’s where I got my studio. It’s all discrete, people won’t see you arriving, no one will ever find out and… You know that was not an accurate representation of how I—”

“Dear, I know, I know. I could never think you would hurt me on purpose. You just proved that. It’s simply that… What I do not know is if I’m… ready for giving it another try after all this.”

“I totally get what you’re going for.”

“No, you don’t… Crowley, it’s not that I don’t trust you. But there hasn’t been anyone before or after Gabriel except for you and… I was so scared.”

“You weren’t scared when I fingered you, were you?”

“Of course not, but it’s—”

“We can do that! We don’t have to fuck. Angel, I’m not exaggerating, it really is a whole different world. We’d be our own bosses. No following stupid orders, no making ourselves do shit we don’t want to do. Hell, you can even wear your normal clothes. You don’t have to be super sexy, you don’t have to play a character. Besides, I think being sexy comes natural for you.”

She blushes at that, but it’s not enough to vanish her reluctance.

“You don’t have to answer now. You can… y’know, give it a thought or two. I’m not going anywhere. Or you could visit me one of these days and see the place for yourself. Just to see how you feel. I can show you how I do everything, how we can keep your face out of the shot. It would require no compromise, you can say ‘you know what? I hate it, I’m going home’ and I won’t insist.”

He reaches out to take her hand. She lets him.

“Angel, I’m not pressuring you. I really want to work with you and help you, but I can go on with my life not doing it. I just… believe in us, I guess. We get along well, we communicate well and I’m sure we can have some awesome sex together. So of course I want you to give it a chance, not gonna lie. All I’m saying is… think it over. Cold-headed, at home, give me a ring if you have questions or wanna see the studio.”

He takes a blank card and a pen from the small table standing by the loveseat, writes something on it and hands it to her.

“Here. Call me any time, even if you just wanna say ‘screw you, your cock felt like a wet puppet.’ I’ll take it.”

Azira giggles and takes the card, briefly exanimating it. He’s got nice calligraphy, with shouldn’t surprise her, since he already showed off his skilled fingers today. Aside from the obvious, she reflects on how easily he put her lipstick on earlier, in a matter of seconds without making a single mistake.

Her eyes find themselves staring at her image in the mirror again. A wave of sadness washes over her when she remembers how her mother’s friends used to call her the nicest-looking young lady in town. Gabriel said she had the face of the girl he’d want to marry when he declared his feelings for her. Everyone in church commented on her class and virtue.

And it all has to end like this. With her looking like this. She keeps eye-contact with that stranger and runs her fingers over her swollen lips, just to make sure they’re the same person.

“Let’s fix it,” Crowley proposes, already taking her hand and pulling her to the dressing table’s chair.

“What?”

He sits her down and begins to remove the ruined lipstick.

“How you feel about peach blush? I think it’d look good on you,” he suggest, going through the cosmetics at his disposition.

She shrugs, too sceptical to participate. Resigned to the question that dances on her tongue: ‘how are you going to fix _this_?’

Crowley continues despite her lack of interest. He rubs some blush on her cheeks with tender digits and gives her eyelids the same treatment, using a similar shade. He only uses gloss for her lips this time and applies mascara on her eyelashes with the greatest of cares.

“You probably want me to put your hair back as it was, but I think we can do better.”

She nods, absent, eyes closed and tears planning on ruining his work. Her hair gets divided, brushed and curled in ways she can only imagine, still refusing to look. There are lots of pins and hairspray involved, that’s for sure.

“Alright, think we’re finished,” Crowley announces after what could have been an hour.

She opens one eye first. Then she thinks it’s not functioning well. Then she opens the other.

“Crowley,” she gasps. “Dear, you are…”

“Incredible, I know, don’t have to say it twice. But what do _you_ think? You like it?”

“If I like it?” She runs her hand over her right cheek, stunned. “How could I not? This is simply fantastic.”

“Oh, you’re just saying that…”

“No, I mean it. How…? This… I’ve been trying to get a perfect victory roll since I was fourteen and I could never do it. It would always have a hole in the middle.”

“I can teach you how to do it, but you’d have to call me.”

A little small creeps its way to her face.

“I suppose I could.”

“And I should be going. Getting dressed, calling a few people assholes since they’re not my bosses anymore, run to my car before they call the police… Pure unemployment bureaucracy.”

“Good luck with that.”

Crowley walks backwards to the door, moving his hands in a way that almost reads as fingerguns and giving up before they come to the gesture.

“See you… or not.”

“Crowley,” she says, turning her chair around.

He stops.

“I… Please be patient. I’m… I’m going to call you either to say yes or no, don’t worry. I wouldn’t leave you hanging and keep you from finding other people who are interested if I choose not to do it. I’m just… scared that I might do the wrong thing.”

Crowley grins, possibly caught between tenderness and disappointment.

“Oh, you’re an angel, I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.”


End file.
